The Heart Surgeon's Secret Child Page 14

  What could she believe?

  Was he still married?

  Was that why he’d been at pains to tell her their relationship wouldn’t lead to marriage?

  Probably!

  Depression joined the confusion in her head, so she strode out, determined to forget it all, to put the entire experience behind her—letting anger feed in to burn her other thoughts away. If that man thought he was going to lay claim to Joe, he had another think coming!

  Becky was down in the unit, delivering some file notes.

  ‘Did you hear?’ she asked Lauren.

  Lauren stared at her and snapped, ‘Hear what?’ Not caring much what was happening anywhere.

  ‘About Jeremy? I don’t know for sure what they’ve found out but there’s a meeting going on upstairs with Alex and Jean-Luc and the hospital bigwigs and the solicitor. They know what happened!’

  Concern for the man she kept telling herself she didn’t love tightened Lauren’s chest. Would a hospital solicitor protect Jean-Luc or throw him to the wolves?

  ‘I hope they’re not going to pin the blame on Jean-Luc,’ she heard herself say. Weak! Pathetically weak! Yet still she persisted. ‘I know the hospital hierarchy—they’ll be looking for a scapegoat and because he’s temporary staff he’d fit right in with the plans.’

  ‘Oh, so we fancy the dishy French doctor, do we?’ Becky teased, and Lauren realised, belatedly, her defence of Jean-Luc must have come out far too strongly.

  But she could still protest, ‘It’s not that, but I was there—he did nothing wrong. The catheter hadn’t even reached the heart. It’s just that hospital management can be so devious, blaming him is just the kind of thing they’d do.’

  ‘You’re right, but I doubt he’s in strife,’ Becky said. ‘It was something to do with the toxicology report that made them all excited.’

  And as Jean-Luc hadn’t administered any drugs, that let him out, Lauren realised, feeling far more relieved than she should have.

  She said goodbye to Becky and got on with her work, which today was in the post-op room where the babies and children were nursed and monitored while they came out of the anaesthetic after their operations.

  She looked at the operating list. Phil was operating first, a three-month-old with an atrioventricular canal defect. Phil would be closing the holes between the atria and ventricles and dividing the common valve presently in the heart into two valves so each of the ventricles had a valve into their respective atria. It was delicate work but had such a high success rate everyone was always optimistic about the op.

  Although after Jeremy the mood of optimism was sadly lacking in the unit—one death affecting so many people.

  Later in the day, Alex—and undoubtedly Jean-Luc—would be doing another TGA. As often happened in the unit when you got one case of a particular defect, you got a run of them.

  Lauren went through to the post-op room, and began to prepare for the arrival of her small patients, checking first the monitors were working, then making sure all the drugs they could possibly need were close to hand.

  Then all she had to do was wait, which was a problem because not being busy meant she had time to think.

  Maybe if she thought about Jeremy and what the toxicology report might have said.

  But she didn’t know enough about drugs and their reactions to even begin to guess what might be happening, so she was left with sorting through her memories.

  Yes, she did remember walking on the beach with Jean-Luc, and being with the children from the orphanage. She could see Father Joe’s kindly face, unlined except for smile lines radiating out from his eyes, his skin unmarked despite the fact he was close to eighty.

  And now she could remember how he looked, and even recall his soft Irish voice, she felt the pain of loss and knew she had to grieve for him. And for the children—faces and names coming back to her, the smiles of the babies as she picked them up to cuddle them, the toddlers clamouring for a story.

  So many lost, such innocents who surely hadn’t deserved to die.

  She blinked back tears and sniffed hard, but the tears kept coming and as she found a tissue and scrubbed at her cheeks and pressed it against her eyes she wondered if she was crying for Father Joe and the children or because she’d also remembered what had happened between her and Jean-Luc?

  Most tears are tears of self-pity, she heard Father Joe say. He’d told her that when she’d cried for a baby who’d died. Remember that, he’d said. It is good to grieve, to cry even, but be sure you’re crying for the baby, not because it makes you sad she died.

  And as Lauren sat and waited for another baby to be given into her care, she considered his words and finally decided there’d be no more tears—not for the past, or the present. Jean-Luc had proved in the past not to be the man she’d thought he was, so why would he have changed?

  The arrival of little Tracey Oliver got her mind focussed on work. Tracey was on an ECMO machine. The extracorporeal membrane oxygenation machine wasn’t always used after open-heart surgery but Tracey’s operation must have been serious enough for the surgical team to decide her battered little heart needed the extra help. During the operation, when Tracey had been connected to the heart-lung machine, she’d had tubes placed directly into the large blood vessels near her heart, one to carry venous blood into the bypass machine where it had been oxygenated and returned to her body through a tube into her aorta.

  ‘Knowing she wasn’t doing well, Phil left the tubes in place and put her straight onto the ECMO when he was finished,’ Maggie, the anaesthetist who’d accompanied Tracey to post-op, explained. ‘Just keep watch for any signs of bleeding and on her blood oxygenation. Phil hates having his patients on ECMO but Tracey was so weak before the op he had no choice.’

  Lauren assured Maggie she’d be extra-watchful, and she looked at the little girl and wondered if they’d be able to get her off the machine before too long. Complications multiplied the longer patients needed the special help. Haemorrhages in the brain because the blood had to be kept thinned so it went through the machine, infections and kidney failure were all common if a patient needed ECMO for more than a couple of days.

  Maggie left, promising to return in half an hour, then Theo came in, wanting to check the adjustment on the machine.

  ‘As soon as her heart is pumping more strongly we can cut down on the blood flow through the machine,’ he said, reading a printout from the monitor.

  ‘Well, at least she’s in good hands with you here,’ Lauren told him. Kurt, who’d been in charge of the heart-lung machine and the ECMO machines when the unit had first opened, had been an excellent operator, but Theo had a different approach. For him the patient was more important than the machine and he was forever tinkering with the machines in order to get better outcomes for his patients.

  ‘Good hands with all of us, Lauren,’ Theo responded. ‘We’re a team, remember.’

  ‘You’re very chatty this morning,’ Lauren told him, not wanting to think about the team—or one particular member of it. ‘Could it be some of the love dust that falls in this place from time to time has settled on you and the new South African surgeon?’

  He looked at Lauren and frowned.

  ‘What makes you ask that?’ he demanded.

  She was taken aback by his response—the stiff, unbending, manly Greek suddenly very much in evidence.

  ‘I just thought you liked her,’ Lauren said, aware how lame it sounded.

  ‘I can like her without there being anything in it,’ Theo retorted. ‘Certainly without there being any of this love-dust nonsense you’re carrying on about anyway.’

  ‘Well, forgive me for living,’ Lauren snapped. ‘I thought we were friends and could talk about things.’

  He gave her a look that would have burnt toast and stalked out of the room.

  Lauren concentrated on Tracey. The day had not got off to a good start and now seemed intent on getting worse.

  ‘You’re still Joe’s fathe
r and you can keep on seeing him as you’ve been doing,’ she said to Jean-Luc when he met her as she left the PICU at the end of the day.

  ‘And you? What am I to you?’ he demanded, and Lauren looked at him and shook her head.

  ‘I haven’t worked that out yet,’ she admitted, ‘but if we look at it the other way—at what I am to you—it’s easier because I was never going to be more to you than the other half of an affair while you were in Sydney. You told me that the first night we made love. And now, thinking about what happened in the past, well, I’m not sure you’re the man I thought you were—and that means I’m not sure I want to have an affair with you.’

  They were standing in the PICU tearoom which, miraculously, was empty, although Jean-Luc was only too aware they could be interrupted at any minute.

  Not that he was thinking about interruptions! Lauren’s intransigent stance had left him stunned—in fact, stunned just about summed up his mental state over the past twenty-four hours, what with one thing and another.

  ‘I need to talk to you, about the past. I need to explain some things. Can we at least discuss this somewhere more sensible?’ he asked, sure they could find a way through the tangle they’d somehow managed to tie around themselves.

  ‘More sensible like the beach?’ Lauren snapped. ‘Or your bedroom perhaps? I don’t think so. I don’t want to listen to any more of your lies, Jean-Luc.’

  And with that she walked away.

  But it was Cubs night and although he’d had precious little sleep the previous night, at least that would give him an excuse to see Lauren again—although that would never be his prime reason for wanting to take Joe to Cubs.

  He loved seeing the little boy in his uniform and seeing the pride in his eyes when he joined his six and made his responses at the beginning of the meeting.

  Things may have all gone wrong between him and Lauren—and he hadn’t understood her anger the first time so how could he understand it now?—but Joe was a gift he’d unexpectedly received and whatever happened he had to continue to build his relationship with his son.

  ‘Where’s your mother?’ he asked, when Joe, all ready to depart, answered the front door that evening.

  ‘She’s got a headache, but Russ is here. He’s been minding me until you came,’ Joe told him, then, unconcerned by any vibes of tension Jean-Luc might have been sending out, he turned to tell Lucy to stay and mind the house.

  ‘I’d better see Russ, then, and tell him we’re going,’ Jean-Luc said, wondering if Lauren really did have a headache or if she was using the classic excuse.

  ‘Is Lauren OK?’ he asked, as he followed Joe into the kitchen of the flat and found Russ busy on his laptop at the kitchen table. ‘Theo said she gets headaches still—from her injury in the typhoon?’

  Russ didn’t reply immediately, finishing what he was doing and hitting the save button, but when he did look up there was no hint of animosity in his face.

  More like concern.

  ‘She hasn’t had them badly for a while, but remembering those lost six weeks, well, it seems to have brought them back.’

  Jean-Luc nodded understandingly, but apparently that didn’t satisfy his lover’s older brother.

  ‘They’d be good memories, wouldn’t they?’ he asked.

  ‘John, we’ll be late,’ Joe urged, but Jean-Luc knew he had to answer. Not only answer, but tell the truth.

  ‘For me they were the best, and I think for Lauren also, although—at the end—we argued, Russ, and I think that might be bothering her.’

  Russ considered this for a moment, then shrugged.

  ‘She’ll sort it out. She’s an exceedingly strong young woman, our Lauren,’ he said. ‘Now, you’d better get the brat to Cubs.’

  ‘Not a brat,’ Joe answered automatically, but he gave Russ a high-five and Lucy a last hug and kiss before taking Jean-Luc’s hand and leading him out the back to where Lauren’s little car was parked.

  ‘Mum gave me the keys to mind,’ he said, his chubby hand opening to reveal the car keys.

  Without the heart!

  This was not good!

  Russ had said Lauren would work things out—but would that be in Jean-Luc’s favour?

  And what did he want anyway?

  Hadn’t she been right to remind him he’d only wanted an affair?

  Didn’t he?

  ‘Come on, John,’ Joe urged, and Jean-Luc put aside all thoughts of Lauren and concentrated on getting one small Cub safely to his meeting.

  Lauren heard the car drive off, and though she dozed—the headache was genuine and the tablets made her sleepy—she also heard it return. She could hear Joe’s excited voice relating all that had happened at the meeting, and Russ’s voice as well—so he’d waited until Joe came home. But she couldn’t tell if Jean-Luc was still in her kitchen—he often stayed to put Joe to bed and read his story.

  The tablet and the sleep had eased her headache enough that she should be able to think. But trying to sort out the muddle in her head was impossible. She needed to get out of the house, have a long walk on the beach—no, not on the beach, perhaps in the park.

  ‘Stupid idea,’ she muttered to herself. ‘You could walk from here to Melbourne and still not sort things out.’

  She picked up her mobile and phoned Bill.

  ‘Are you in my flat with Russ?’ she asked.

  ‘I am,’ Bill replied cautiously.

  ‘Is Jean-Luc there?’

  ‘He is.’

  ‘Damn. Never mind. You know the shoulder you offered—could I borrow it? I need to sort things out in my head. Can we walk in the park? Can you get away? I can slip out the front door and wait across the road.’

  ‘Yes, yes and yes.’ Bill must have kept her questions in sequence in his head. ‘I’ll be there in a few minutes.’

  She pictured him making some excuse to the family and their visitor. In fact, all he needed to say was ‘hospital’ and no one would question him.

  They walked in silence at first, Bill obviously waiting for some input from her before he spoke.

  Some input! What she finally managed was, ‘I’m so muddled, Bill! I can’t believe it.’

  ‘Because of memories?’ he asked gently.

  And she sighed and admitted he was right.

  ‘Bad memories of Jean-Luc?’ he prompted.

  ‘Bad memories of how we parted.’ And she went on to explain about Joe handing Jean-Luc the envelope and the picture flashing so vividly—so clearly—in her head—a child handing Jean-Luc an envelope.

  ‘It was a love letter from his wife back in France—Jean-Luc was married all along,’ Lauren explained.

  ‘Did you know that or just guess?’

  ‘He didn’t deny it.’

  Bill sighed.

  ‘It isn’t my shoulder you need,’ he said, ‘but Jean-Luc’s ear. You need to talk this through with him, Lorie, you know that.’

  It was her turn to sigh.

  ‘But to him my reaction doesn’t make sense.’

  ‘Then maybe he’s not the man for you.’

  ‘He isn’t anyway,’ Lauren snapped, angry because she knew Bill was right. ‘He doesn’t want commitment—oh, he’ll commit to Joe and sort out some kind of access to him but me, I’m just a diversion.’

  They walked some more.

  ‘Maybe you should find out why,’ Bill said, then he pointed ahead and Lauren realised they’d walked in a circle and were back across the road from their houses. ‘His light’s on. Go and talk to him.’

  She was about to protest that it was his bedroom light and she didn’t want to talk to him there when she realised she couldn’t reveal such weakness, even to Bill. But reluctantly she walked across the road and rang the doorbell. He’d have to come into the foyer to answer the door—they could talk in the sitting room.

  ‘Lauren?’

  His voice was cool and suddenly Bill’s suggestion seemed ridiculous. Jean-Luc didn’t have a problem—she did, and it was something she had
to sort out by herself.

  ‘Thank you for taking Joe to Cubs,’ she said, her knees shaking with tension that was building and building.

  ‘It was my pleasure. Do you want to come in?’

  Of course she wanted to come in! She wanted to be drawn into his arms and into his bed and wanted to be so lost in love-making she need never think again.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ she muttered, still standing like a stork on his front doormat.

  ‘We could talk.’

  Did his voice sound strained?

  No, she was imagining it because she wanted this to be as hard for him as it was for her.

  ‘About India? About the letter? About Therese?’

  He sighed.

  ‘I’m sorry, Lauren, but it was all a very long time ago, and as you wouldn’t listen to my explanation back then and as I didn’t get much sleep last night, I doubt very much we will be able to sort things out tonight, but if you want to talk about it, fine.’

  He looked strained as well, the scars on his cheeks standing out as they did when he was tired, but she couldn’t let pity undermine her anger.

  ‘There was no explanation that would be acceptable,’ she said. ‘You didn’t understand that then and you don’t seem to now. We’re not only from different cultures but we have totally different values. Fidelity and trust are important things to me and obviously they aren’t to you. Goodnight!’

  And with that she left his doorstep and marched home, aware he was still standing in the doorway, but whether he was watching her or staring into space or even waiting for another freak wave to sweep them both away she didn’t know because she refused to give him the satisfaction of turning around for one last look…

  Jean-Luc watched her go, aware he should have called her back and sorted things out between them, but he was too tired—too emotionally drained. He’d allowed himself to become consumed with work, finding that easier to deal with than the situation with Lauren. He’d suspected all along that Rosemary Willis had something apart from Jeremy’s death bothering her, but to find out what it was—she had given Jeremy a sleeping pill the night before the operation—and then to deal with it, well, he’d been up most of the night, first talking to Alex and Phil and then, with Maggie’s help, trying to comfort the distraught mother. The fact that she’d suspected her actions might have inadvertently led to her son’s death was bad enough, but the confirmation, with the toxicology report, was close to destroying her.